Page 32 of Safe Hands

“If you want to help,” Carly said, “you can fetch a dog for me.”

“Haven’t you got that the wrong way around?”

“No. Berkeley’s barely been walked again this week, so he’s forgotten how to fetch.”

“Emotional leverage? A commendable attempt, but you know I don’t have a heart.”

The door swung open, and Lauren bustled through, laden with long black bags. She had the largest over one shoulder, another slung around her neck, and the rest bundled in her arms. Once again, she’d attempted to carry everything in one go and risked injury. This time, admittedly, she was less likely to injure herself than wipe out someone else.

Behind her, Paige had come dressed as an archetypal Parisian photographer, complete with black beret. Burlesque, Lauren had said. Now Carly could see it.

“Very glamorous,” Carly said, acknowledging the effort and resisting the urge to help Lauren with the bags.

Paige did a clumsy twirl. “Thanks. I rarely get out on a Friday evening these days, so I thought I’d pull a few items from my dressing-up box. Create a look.”

“You two were out there a long time. Is that what you were perfecting in the car park?”

Lauren dropped the bags where she stood. “No, just a bit of football gossip.”

“Gossip?”

So much for Jenna’s assertions that the team was drama-free.

“Well, no. Not really gossip.” Lauren tugged at her sleeve. “I’ve been helping coach the under-eighteens because they’re without a manager, and Paige heard a rumour that someone might be interested. That’s all.”

Lauren coaching impressionable teenagers was a twist Carly hadn’t seen coming.

“I know a football manager going spare,” Carly said, as Beth inched towards the front door. “She used to be a teacher, so she’s great with teenagers.”

“Sounds ideal,” Paige replied, setting her only bag on the reception desk. “Who is she?”

Carly gestured in Beth’s direction. “This is Beth. She’s been dying to meet you.”

Beth forced a smile. “I would love to discuss this, but I have a dog to collect.”

She exited at speed, and Carly watched her scamper across the car park. Her second fuck-it grenade of the week had at least benefited the common good.

While Paige and Lauren busied themselves unzipping bags, Carly leaned her hands on the reception desk and yawned. The number of roles she was performing had reached an all-time high with the addition of dog-sitting and fielding teenage coaching vacancies.

And now she had to pivot into influencer mode.

“Shall we get started?” she said, more command than question.

Berkeley would no doubt need a walk when he arrived. If she let time run away with her, she wouldn’t make it to bed this side of midnight.

She helped carry the equipment into the weights room, where she’d already laid out an extension cable and cleaned down a bench. Paige fussed over light stands, tripod and settings while Carly briefed Lauren on the first video.

“From what you said in the proposal, I think we should start with squats.”

Lauren nodded. “Common mistakes, basic corrections, injury prevention?”

“Exactly. Keep it clear, practical and short.”

“Great.” Lauren rolled her shoulders, then smiled too brightly. “Clear, practical and short. Three things I’m famously good at.”

Paige announced that the camera was rolling, so Carly gestured to the rubber tiles lit by two tented lights. Lauren shuffled into position, squinting in the glare.

“In this video,” she began, “we’re looking at one of the most common movements people get wrong in the gym: the squat.”